Rajat Narula's Blog, page 6

Robin: Dave Itzkoff

One of the most poignant events in the entertainment industry in recent times was Robin Williams taking his own life. “Robin” traces the journey of the man – the stand-up comic, the actor and the fallible human – warts and all. From his relatively affluent yet lonely childhood to his days at Julliard, his struggles to establish himself as a stand-up comic, the mad-cap comedy that came to define him to Mork and Mindy and the Hollywood roller-coaster. His personal life: experiments with cocaine and women, the two decades of being sober and enjoying family life, the insecurities, and then the alcoholism are all told in a non-partisan, non-judgmental way. The book is a bit too long for a biography – covering the making of too many movies in detail for example – and thus is not as dramatic as it could have been. However, the honesty of the narration stands out.

Read.

Hood: Emma Donoghue

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Cara has died in a car accident and her partner, Pen, is mourning, reminiscing. Nothing much happens: there is no strong story line, but the book still manages to hold attention. And that is because it has been written really well. The intensity of Pen’s emotions and feelings her interactions with Cara’s family are captured beautifully. It’s an example of how really good writing can salvage a book. Nowhere close to being as good as “Room”, Hood still leaves a strong impression.

Read.

Water for Elephants: Sara Gruen

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A story of passion, madness and love that plays out with a travelling circus as the background. The story is not something that hasn’t been told before but Gruen does a great job in capturing the circus ambience. The bits told in the nursing home, with the protagonist being very old and his slowly losing his mind are particularly touching.

Read.

The Sunset Club: Khushwant Singh

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Khushwant Singh wrote the book at the age of Ninety-something – so that should have been a fair warning in itself. “The Sunset Club” is a rather tame account of the sunset years conversations amongst three friends who follow three different religions (makes it even more cliché). The Sikh character is thinly-veiled Singh himself. The other two die – one by one – and leave him alone in the end. Singh’s boasts about his younger-day conquests also seems to be in bad taste.

Don’t bother.

Fall in the neighborhood

It’s a wonderful time of the year: sunny days, nip in the air, and the promise of change. Here are a few pictures from the neighborhood.

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Children of a Better God: Susmita Bagchi

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A book on spastic children in a special school. The writer wrote the book with the sole objective of espousing their cause. It is rather dry and a straightforward account of the lives of the kids in the school without much drama. Nonetheless, a couple of scenes are touching. The book is translated from Oriya and hence there in an additional issue with the readability.

Read only if you are passionate about spastic children.

The Sense of an Ending: Julian Barnes

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A friend turns enemy. An act of hatred takes place and is followed by a lifetime of remorse. The ending is a major twist in the tale that works excellently. Great use of humor. The book has a rather saggy middle, but works quite well overall.

Read.

Regulating COVID Blues

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It has been seven months that our family is confined to home. There is a lot to be thankful for: we are all safe and there have been no significant financial implications.

However, six people spanning three generations being confined at home has had its own challenges and everyone is susceptible to COVID blues. Yesterday, my younger daughter proclaimed that the best years of her life were being wasted. That she should have been in college, enjoying this time with friends rather than being stuck at home. Or the day before, when my older one announced she “needs” a vacation after her first semester exams. That she finds it unfair that her friends post photos of their get-togethers while she is denied the pleasure of being with them because of high-risk people (two grandmothers aged 96 and 82) at home.

My wife and I have our blue moments too.

This periodic venting is manageable and even healthy. The other family members listen to the one facing the blues and sometimes offer helpful suggestions. However, I do worry about all of venting at the same time! Imagine that blue explosion!

I am thinking of allocating days for venting blues. “You have Mondays and Thursdays, you have Tuesdays and Fridays and so on.”

One Word at a Time

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“Even the most prolific writer writes only one word at a time.” ― Mokokoma Mokhonoana

The task of writing a book or even an article or essay can seem intimidating. However, one has to remember that it actually is one word at a time. Word by word, a sentence followed by another, chapter after chapter and the book slowly emerges. Anne Lamott described it the best in “Bird by Bird”. The title of the book came from a childhood memory of hers. Her brother was supposed to write an assignment on birds for his summer holidays. He didn’t do anything the entire summer and then panicked on the last day. It was his father’s advice, “Bird by bird, buddy, bird by bird” that provider her the lesson that writing can be done in small, chewable chunks. In the end, it’s a principle that applies not only to writing, but any big, formidable task that needs to be completed. Doesn’t it?

Cooking with my Daughters

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When my older daughter was six, we began a tradition: she and I would make the Saturday dinner together. It was fun. She could do little, but it was a wonderful dad-daughter time. She helped out getting the ingredients together, mixed things when they needed to be mixed (and sometimes even when they did not), tasted food and provided considered opinions on whether the sauce needed more salt. There were also disasters; a dish turning out too hot to handle for example and then we thought of ways to mitigate the disaster. Those disasters are the sweetest of my memories when we conspired to keep it secret and make the food edible somehow. When my younger daughter was old enough to reach the kitchen counter with the aid of a stepping stool, she became the third member of our team.

They are twenty-three and nineteen respectively now, but the tradition has endured. Saturday dinner continues to be our joint responsibility. Of course, we cook together only if they are home. These days, because of the pandemic, I have the rare privilege of having both of them home at the same time.

Now, the level of their participation varies. If they are in the mood, they can take the lead on the cooking and delegate the cutting-chopping responsibilities to me. If not, they just sit down on the the kitchen counter talking to each other, and read out the directions for the recipe.

However, it’s their presence that makes the cooking a joyous experience and something to look forward to. I suppose, in the end, it’s not the chores, it’s the company.